The Angel of Second Chances
by PhantomShire
Summary: Christine is gone, but Erik has found a reason to continue living: to use Angelique Descartes, the ugly but talented young singer, as the means of his revenge.
1. Prologue (Erik)

I have been in hiding three weeks. I think I am slowly going even madder than before.

Christine! Christine! How am I supposed to live without you, my angel? How can I live without your voice in my ears?

I don't think I can. I think I'm going to die.


	2. A Reason to Live (Erik)

Perhaps I won't die after all. I may have found a reason to continue living—revenge. Not revenge against Christine and her boy…no, I set her free to marry him; I would not do that to her.

I intend to exact my revenge upon the world that has shunned me for my face ever since the day I was born. And I have found the perfect means of carrying it out, a means so subtle that the world will not notice what I have done.

The opera house has reopened, and there are new students practicing the art of song. Most of them lack any real talent…or passion for music; they are here hoping for fame and fortune and possibly to snag a rich, handsome husband. All except one, that is.

Her name is Angelique Descartes, and she is almost as hideous as I am. Seriously, she is. She's so thin you would think she is a walking skeleton, and her skin is the sallowest I have ever seen. And her nose is huge in comparison with the rest of her features. But her voice…ah! Her voice is clear and pure, albeit lower than Christine's. And yet it suits her perfectly.

She shows the most talent of the entire lot, the most understanding of a song's true meaning. And yet they treat her as if she were nothing! Her teachers spend less time with her than with their better-looking students, and the other girls are not subtle in stating how they think Angelique looks.

This, then, is how I will exact my revenge. I will train this ugly child to have the most astounding voice their petty little minds have ever heard, and they will be forced to acknowledge her at last. In raising her to the heights of stardom, I shall taunt the world for how it has treated me.

Then, maybe, I can rest in peace.


	3. Close Encounters of the Phantom Kind (E)

(A/N: I'm please to see that people are reading this. I hope you're enjoying it.)

* * *

Persuading Angelique to accept me as her mentor was considerably more difficult than I had anticipated. With Christine, I had the story of Little Lotte and the Angel of Music as supporting material. Angelique, however, was not easily swayed.

For one thing, she did not in the least like that I was standing behind the wall when I started speaking to her, insisting that if we were to have a proper conversation, she should be able to see me. "I don't like talking to people I can't see," she argued in a tone that could rival Madame Giry's most severe ballet-mistress voice. So I opened the wall panel behind which I had been hiding; she looked surprised for a minute or two before stepping closer.

She was skeptical about my entire offer. After all, she insisted, I was the legendary Opera Ghost, the one that everyone thought had gone after Christine and the Vicomte de Chagny had left to get married. Why shouldn't she turn me in for murder? Why should she accept me as her teacher? What was in this whole revenge business for her?

Exasperated, I finally snapped, "Because as long as you look like a skinny, sallow-faced hobgoblin, the world will pay no attention to your voice as it is now. I could train it to the point where everyone ignores your face because your voice has them completely enthralled."

I expected a harsh reaction—what was I thinking, calling her such names?—but instead she seemed to pause and reflect on my words. She told me she would think about it and tell me the next day. "But how will I find you to tell you my decision?"

"Come back here at the same time. I will be waiting," I told her.

I think she will accept, but it is difficult to say for certain. She is not at all like my Christine, my angel. No, despite her name, Angelique is not an angel. What is she, then? I'm not certain yet.


	4. Decisions (Angelique)

(A/N: I would like to thank newbornphanatic for being the VERY FIRST person to review my story! *does happy dance* The next few chapters after this are still short, but they will start to get longer. Also, this chapter is narrated by Angelique, which is reflected in the chapter title.)

* * *

I met the Opera Ghost today, the legendary Phantom of the Opera…and he wants to tutor me. It has something to do with revenge, and I'm not certain why I should get involved. I should tell Madame Giry; she would know how to get him arrested. He is a thief, kidnapper, murderer, and who knows what else.

And yet…why am I seriously considering accepting his offer? He is dangerous, unbalanced; I should not be anywhere near him.

But he was honest with me. I know I am not pretty, and I suspect I will never be beautiful. Because of this, people are either extra nice to me or treat me as so much insignificant dirt. He, however, treated me as an equal. Well, maybe we are equals; from what I've heard, his face is grotesque under his mask, yet he managed to snare Christine Daae with his voice.

Perhaps I should go back to him. Perhaps…


	5. A New Beginning (Erik)

(A/N: Another short one...the next few ones will be. _But_ I have got a couple of longer installments in the works!)

* * *

Angelique has accepted! She came back to the wall where I first talked to her and informed me in a formal, solemn manner that she would be quite willing to let me improve her voice. Nodding, I offered her my hand. Her grey eyes still showed wariness, but she took my hand and followed me down to the cellars.

She was quiet as we wound our way through the corridors, but I could tell it was a reflective silence. She thinks a lot, this one. She's also fond of books—as I discovered when we arrived at my house. As soon as she caught sight of the library, she dashed over to the shelves and started browsing the spines. Honestly, she almost started drooling.

"You can read later," I told her, my voice taking on the strict timbre of a singing tutor. "Right now, you sing. Run through your scales."

She began to inhale improperly, and I rapped my knuckles on the edge of the organ. "No, no, no! Who taught you how to breathe? Shoulders back, and inhale from your diaphragm."

"I _am_ inhaling from my diaphragm," Angelique returned, teeth gritted.

"That is not your diaphragm. It may want to be a diaphragm when it grows up, but it's not now."

This triggered a drawn-out argument about diaphragms, followed almost immediately by a disagreement about enunciation. Despite all of this, she made remarkable progress. In just one afternoon, Angelique accomplished more than the average singer achieves in three days.

If she continues at this rate, my revenge could be sweeter than I ever imagined.


	6. Weeks Pass, and Months Pass (Erik)

(A/N: Short chapter, I know, but I'll probably update again later today. Stay tuned! And, yes, the chapter title is a reference to "Til I Hear You Sing" from _Love Never Dies_. I didn't like the plot of that musical, but I did like that song.)

* * *

Angelique continues to learn quickly although she still struggles with the higher register. Sometimes she tries my patience quite sorely, and I must keep reminding myself that she is not Christine. Her voice cannot accomplish the feats that Christine's did.

Ah, Christine! I have not forgotten you, my angel, my love—if you have not been on my mind lately, it is because Angelique has taken to sitting in my house even when we're not practicing. She takes such ludicrous advantage of my library; I don't know why I indulge her.

We do not speak much outside of practice, and sometimes we still argue during our lessons. Once, in a fit of anger, I called her a hobgoblin again, and she slapped me. Still, the solitude of my house seems more oppressive when she is not here.


	7. The Planning Begins (Erik)

(A/N: Two chapters in one day! Also, I slipped in _The Resurrection of Lazarus_ as a nod to the book; there's a chapter where Erik tells Christine that if she is still worthy of him, he will play _The Resurrection of Lazarus_ for her on her father's violin. And then he does. And everything seems awesome.)

* * *

Angelique almost looks pretty when she smiles—and today she was absolutely beaming. It seems her class will be allowed to give a recital to showcase their progress to date.

Honestly, aside from Angelique, none of those girls has made much progress at all. They're all little better than squawking banshees; Angelique outshines them all. Ah, but her face…she is right; I don't think she will ever be beautiful. All the better for me…for my revenge, I mean. It will begin with her performance, which I have begun planning. I have already picked out the perfect piece of music for her to sing—a movement from _The Resurrection of Lazarus_.

"I'm not familiar with that song," she told me when I informed her of my decision. "And I had in mind something simpler…something my brother and I used to sing when we were young."

"You're in the Opera now, Angelique; you need something stunning, not simple," I told her bluntly. "It won't take you long to learn it, and I think you'll end up liking it."

I began playing it on the organ so she could hear the melody. After a few moments, she began singing the words. She was quiet and hesitant and went flat in a few places, but all of that will change with practice.

Now I need to work on designing her dress. She will probably hate it.


	8. Getting Closer (Angelique)

Erik exasperates me to no end sometimes; why do I put up with him?

Yes, he actually has a name—Erik. I coaxed it out of him one day when he was in a benevolent mood (which is rare). But this dress he has designed…I don't know what he was thinking and how he can possibly expect me to wear it. It's all black; I look like I'm attending a funeral. The skirt is much wider than I'm used to, and the sleeves are all long and dramatic (yes, sleeves can be dramatic. I have learned this now). To make things even worse, there's this funny headdress he's insisting I wear. It's a mask that covers the top part of my face and has feathers sticking out.

"I look like a crow," I complained as I looked at my reflection in one of the few intact mirrors in his house.

"I was aiming for raven," he remarked casually, flicking one of the feathers. "They were once regarded as portents of doom. The effect would probably work better if you weren't so thin."

I turned to look at him. "How is this stupid outfit helping you gain revenge? What did I ever do to you do deserve this?"

"Well, you did slap me once"—

"_You _called me a hobgoblin!"

Erik sighed. "I am trying to do you a favor with this outfit. If you would shut up for five minutes, I'll explain it to you."

I flicked a stray wisp of my black hair out of my eyes and gave every indication of being a quiet, obedient student.

"The song involves death and life. Your dress is death; your voice is life." He paused a moment to glare at me as I muttered something about melodrama. "And this mask," he continued, placing his hands around my eyes, "gives you power. The audience will not be able to see you fully and, therefore, cannot judge whether your face is too ugly or too beautiful to behold. They will be forced to judge only your voice…and your voice, Angelique"—here he actually smiled "—is beautiful."

"Thank you," I managed to return, trying not to show how stunned I was. He had actually said my voice was beautiful. It was the first time he had ever complemented my voice. Well, in the past he had either criticized the way I sang or merely remarked how my voice was strong and clear. Never had he called it beautiful.

I think I'm starting to think more kindly about him. I must be careful; I must remember that, to him, I am no more than the means to a complicated and confusing end.


	9. The Performance (Angelique)

(A/N: Due to other committments, my updating here will be less frequent. HOWEVER, this is a nice, long chapter, so hopefully it will sustain you until next time.)

* * *

The recital has finally arrived. Well, it was always going to, but it felt like it was taking a long time to get here.

All of the other girls are nervous, but Erik keeps telling me that I have no reason to share their trepidation. Oddly enough, I find his continued insistence reassuring, and I don't feel nervous.

I look at my reflection in the full-length mirror and smooth down my skirt. For all of my complaints, the dress does look beautiful. And when I examined it under the light for the first time, I discovered it wasn't pure black. It was a sort of off-black that complemented my slightly yellow skin tone.

Yes, the dress is lovely. I'll have to thank Erik later.

A knock at my door captures my attention, and I turn from my self-examination. "Come in."

The door opens, and a head peers around the corner—a head with light brown hair and mischievous grey eyes I hadn't seen in far too long.

"Pierre!" I exclaim happily, rushing to embrace him.

"Angie!" he laughs, picking me up and twirling me around.

"Put me down; you'll wrinkle my dress!" I gasp.

"Give me a moment; I haven't seen you in ages! I thought you came here to study singing, not languish in solitary confinement!"

"It's hardly solitary confinement, Pierre."

"Well, I've missed you, anyway. Is that a crime?"

"No. It's no crime at all. Erm, but what are you doing back here, anyway?"

His grin broadens. "Is it really so surprising that I'd come backstage to wish my favorite sister good luck with her first recital?"

"Not in the least," I answer, "but I'm surprised you were able to get back here in the first place."

"It took a fair amount of stealth," he admits, "and I can't stay very long; I think someone spotted me on my way here. So I shall bid you _adieu_ and leave you to continue preparing." He gives a short bow and exits as quickly as he arrived.

"Perky, isn't he?" a wry voice comments.

Instinctively I spin around, but I'm alone. There's only one person that voice could be, though…

"And how long have you been eavesdropping?" I challenge.

"Long enough to be relieved that he's your brother and not your suitor."

That opening is too good to pass up. I don't know if he's looking through the mirror or just behind the wall, but my mouth quirks up in a smirk. "Jealous?"

"Over you? You wish."

"Not really," I shake my head.

"Yes, you do."

I stick out my tongue in response, trying to disguise the growing feelings of fondness I've noticed in myself. I would never hear the end of it, otherwise.

I barely believe it when I hear a low chuckle emanate from the walls. "What is this? The Opera Ghost laughs? Are you sure the world doesn't end when that happens?"

"Let me see you put on the headdress," Erik instructs. Judging from his voice, he's trying very hard not to laugh even harder.

Satisfied with my success at amusing him, I don't even feel like complaining as I lower the feathered monstrosity onto my head. "Caw, caw, caw," I call in a poor imitation of a crow.

"Very funny." I can imagine him shaking his head. "They'll be calling you soon, so I'll be leaving. But I will be there to watch you, never fear. Don't disappoint me."

"I don't plan to, maestro," I bow my head, using the name I call him whenever his tone becomes strict or serious.

Silence falls. I assume Erik has left to take his seat. I find I miss having him to talk to; no one else at the opera house bothers with me. That's part of why I'm at his house so often even when I'm not practicing; I don't have any other friends…if he could conceivably be called my friend.

The other reason I spend so much time at his house is those books sitting on his bookshelf. They keep me quiet so he can compose in peace…although I still suspect he would rather I made myself scarce whenever he's working on his next masterpiece—or, in my opinion, his first masterpiece. He showed me part of _Don Juan Triumphant_ one time; I said it was creepy, and he didn't speak to me for the rest of the day.

These thoughts and others swirl through my head as I leave my dressing room and begin to walk to the stage. Some of the other girls are headed in the same direction, chatting merrily. I merely smile and nod, not being on good terms with most of them.

"Pretty dress, Angelique," one of them offers as I pass.

"Thanks," I smile in return.

It's almost inaudible, but I hear her friend add, "Yeah, but what's on her head? Does she really think that—whatever-it-is will distract everyone from her face?"

It's no different from anything I've heard before, but something hardens in me all the same. Tears don't fall, though. Instead, I can almost hear Erik's voice instructing me.

"_Shoulders back, chin up—carry yourself as if this is your domain, and everyone else is merely tolerated."_

_ "Or strangled?"_

_ He frowned at me and tapped my nose—the only form of discipline he inflicted if I displeased him in some way._

_ "Ow!" I rubbed the sore spot. "You don't have to do that so hard."_

_ "And you can keep your opinions to yourself."_

Ah, memories…but they're actually helping me; I throw back my shoulders and raise my head, striding through the corridor with long, sure steps. In the thoughtless words of one of my classmates, I seem to have found common ground with my unusual instructor. It almost feels as if it is the two of us against the world.

I take my place behind the scenes and stand calmly, my hands folded in front of me. It's strange; I've never felt this composed before. Perhaps my lessons with Erik have given me confidence.

I smile to myself as I review those lessons—frustrating while they were happening, they seem amusing now. Yes, I definitely feel more confident knowing that someone who was not a family member would be listening to me, providing me with moral support…or, with Erik, what passes for moral support. Even though he is not the most encouraging of people, I'm glad he'll be there.

Finally my turn comes, and I practically glide onto the stage.

_"Your entrance should be bold but subtle…like you are a queen but aren't making a big deal about it."_

I take my place at the center of the stage, keeping my feet planted firmly on the floor and my back as straight as possible. With a brief nod to the orchestra, I begin my piece.

_"Start low…lower…no, lower! Sing from the bottom of your soul, girl, the depths of despair!"_

_ Low enough for you now, maestro_? I mentally challenge as the words flow out of my mouth. They sound as if they are coming from the bowels of the earth and rising through my body.

_"Steady your voice now; keep it level. Don't go for the high note until the last possible moment…NOW!"_

It seems the whole audience leans forwards, absorbed in how quickly I manage to switch from low to high. I smile to myself, knowing I have them now. I feel…powerful.

_"The world will be at your feet; they will not care about your face, adoring only your voice."_

The music seems to course through my entire body now—I never felt like this in rehearsal, but it feels delightful now. My voice soars and rings through every part of the theater…I've never felt so alive before.

My song comes to an end, and the thunderous roaring, I'm astonished to realize, is for me. Delighted, I bow to the audience and stand there a few moments longer. It feels even better than I imagined.

And somewhere in that massive crowd, I know Erik is smiling.


	10. Aftermath (Erik)

(A/N: I got this chapter done sooner than I expected, so, yay! Hope you enjoy it.)

* * *

Angelique surpassed everything I expected of her tonight. She always sounded magnificent in rehearsals—not that I told her that; I need to keep her humble—but tonight…ah! Words are failing me. Her voice…I—I can't describe it. It's as if…as if…as if through her voice I've found part of myself that I didn't know was missing.

What am I saying? She is nothing compared to Christine. And yet…Angelique knew—no, she _understood_! She understood how the song was supposed to be sung, and she interpreted it correctly, following my instructions but supplementing them with her own wits. Oh, she was remarkable.

And the audience reacted exactly as I expected—bemused at first, enraptured for the rest of the song. They do not care about her face now.

After the performance, I waited for her behind the wall of her dressing room. This one doesn't have a two-way mirror that leads to the cellars, but I contemplated installing one. It would make it easier for her to come down for her lessons.

It wasn't long before I heard the door open and then close again. "Erik? Erik, are you here?" Angelique asked, breathless with excitement.

I opened the hidden panel and stepped into her room. After a performance like that, she needed to be congratulated in person.

"I am here, Angelique."

She removed the headdress and shook out her hair. Her eyes glistened with triumph and elation. "How did I do?"

There was something about the way she stood there, eyes alight and grin broad…something that reminded me of myself. The joy she had taken in the music was so similar to what I experienced every time I played or composed…

All of this probably explains my reaction: I hugged her. I think I managed to scare her at the same time, but I wasn't trying to. It took her a few moments to figure how to react.

"There are no words to describe the magnificence of your voice tonight," I murmured. "You achieved no mere triumph this evening, no. It was a conquest."

Angelique pulled away so she could look me in the eye. "If there was a conquest of any sort, you helped me. Thank you." My heart nearly stopped when she leaned forward and kissed my cheek.

It was probably revenge for scaring her with the hug.

Voices and footsteps sounded outside; Angelique looked over her shoulder before pushing me back to the panel.

"You'd better go; I don't think my family would understand seeing you here. Oh, and Erik?"

I paused before resuming my hiding spot. "Yes, Angelique?"

"Thanks for the dress. I really do love it."

I nodded briefly in acknowledgement before sliding behind the wall. I left the panel open a crack, though—with as often as she has talked about her family, I was curious to see what these people really looked like.

They all piled in like a stampeding horde, albeit an organized one. They were, after all, supposed to be refined and part of the upper social strata. The most noticeable of the lot was Madame Descartes, Angelique's mother—one of those annoying women concerned with their place in society and willing to do just about anything to keep it safe.

_"Mama can be overbearing, but she loves us. She's concerned about how I'm going to find a husband looking the way I do, but she just wants to make sure I have a good life. Papa thinks differently; he says that a woman with a brain is worth infinitely more than a woman who just has looks."_

Yes, Monsieur Descartes definitely looked to be the saner of Angelique's parents—quieter, too. Then, of course, there was the oldest Descartes sibling, Regina…beautiful but haughty; Angelique once told me how she always felt intimidated around Regina.

Although I hadn't recognized Pierre by name when he visited Angelique before the performance, she had often mentioned how close she was to one of her brothers. Her other brother—whom, I discovered this evening, was named Robert—seemed more solemn, more like his father.

I stayed and watched longer than I had planned. I couldn't help it; the scene fascinated me. I had known could be close and full of camaraderie, but I never had a chance to witness it firsthand (well, maybe a little when I was in Persia with the Daroga).

I was just about to turn away when Madame Giry entered the room.

"You have a special guest who wishes to congratulate you, Mademoiselle Angelique," she told her. Then she stepped aside to reveal—no! No, it couldn't be!

Angelique was so startled she almost fell, but she managed to brace herself on the back of a chair. It took her several tries before she stammered out, "Madame de Chagny!"

Yes, it was my Christine…and that insufferable husband of hers. I barely heard the words they offered Angelique; it was all I could do to restrain myself from crashing through the door and taking Christine back down to my lair.

_Christine! CHRISTINE_! my heart wailed within me. I must have been lost in grief for a long time, for the next thing I knew, they and the rest of the Descarteses had left the room.

I heard Angelique cross over to the hidden panel. She didn't push it aside, but she rested her hand on the outside. "Erik? Are you all right?" she asked softly.

I didn't reply—couldn't reply. I merely pulled the wall shut the rest of the way and stumbled back to the house on the lake, which was quite a feat considering I could barely see for the tears stinging my eyes. I had managed not to think about the agony she had caused me for quite some time; Angelique had proven to be a helpful distraction on that front even if I hadn't been looking for one.

This was a grief that demanded organ playing. To this day I am not entirely sure what I was playing, just that it was loud—so loud that I did not hear someone come up behind me and only noticed I wasn't alone when I paused because of a finger cramp.

I saw a silhouette out of the corner of my eye and turned to face it full-on…Christine! She had returned to her angel!

"Christine," I breathed, hardly daring to believe it. I rose from the organ bench and started for her, but she stepped back, her eyes never leaving my face…my face…_no_! In my anguish I had removed my mask and wig!

"I heard the organ," she faltered. "I…I…" She shook her head. "I shouldn't have come back." She turned and ran.

"No, Christine! Christine!" I ran after her but tripped on an uneven surface. After running on for a few minutes more, I realized how futile this was. I would never be able to catch her. I had let her go and was never meant to find her again.

This realization of how my life had increased its level of cruelty sapped any will I had. I sank to the floor and allowed my sobs to wrack my body. My grief was all I had.

I do not know how long it was before I heard footsteps headed my way again. I felt a gentle hand laid against my shoulder…could it be?

"Erik?"

It was an angel all right, but not the one I wanted.

"You shouldn't be here, Angelique," I scolded weakly, keeping face turned aside. She had never seen my unmasked face, and today was not the day for it.

"I wasn't sure how you were after…" she trailed off. "I…I wanted to make sure you were all right."

I chuckled at the irony, and in my already high-strung state, my chuckled morphed into an all-out evil laugh. It was so ironic—Christine, the beautiful angel of my dreams, the woman my heart had been screaming for all evening, wanted nothing to do with me while Angelique, a skinny sallow-faced hobgoblin who would never be pretty and would more than likely spend the rest of her life alone because no man would ever find her attractive, was here to check on my well-being.

I shouldn't have been surprised; we all get what we deserve sooner or later. No angel for me, no, just a creature who belonged in the same darkness wherein I hid my face.

"Why are you laughing?" Angelique asked warily.

"It's the irony that is my life that brings you to me. You really want to make sure I'm all right? Really?" I rose, grabbed her wrist, and dragged her back to my house.

Ignoring her protests, I flung her towards the organ. "You wish to heal my soul, to make me forget!? Then SING!" I dragged out _Don Juan Triumphant_ and shoved several pieces of music at her. She sorted them all, trying not to tremble.

"I—I can't sing this, Erik," she protested. "It's too high for me; I'll hurt my voice!"

"_SING_!" I roared at her.

To her credit, she tried, but her voice came out shrill.

"No, no, no! I taught you better than that, girl!"

She threw down the music and stamped her foot. "I sing better when I'm not being scared to death!"

"Scared?" I grabbed her arm and whirled her around. Her back was now to the fireplace, and I pressed my face into hers. "Why should you be so scared; it is merely I, your teacher. Or did you not know that you placed your trust in a murderous monster?"

"Let me go. Oh, Erik, please let me go," Angelique whispered. Tears began to shine in her eyes.

"Let you go? That will never happen, so you may as well get used to it. Don't you see, my ugly angel? We were made for one another, made to share the darkness, made to"—

I interrupted myself with a pained scream. It seemed that I had made a bad mistake backing Angelique up against the fireplace, for during my monologue, she had reached behind herself and grabbed the fireplace poker. She then proceeded to raised it as high above her head as she could surreptitiously manage…and bring it crashing down on my arm. Startled, I released her, and she bolted for the door.

The pain jolted me back to my senses. What was I thinking? What had I done?

Angelique, can you ever forgive me?


	11. What Now? (Angelique)

(A/N: Short chapter this time; hopefully it will tide everyone over until the next one.)

* * *

I wiped my eyes as I dashed through the corridors. Erik had been so terrible to me. How could he? I hadn't even screamed at his face (which was just as hideous as rumors made it out to be); I just wanted to be sure he was all right from unexpectedly seeing Christine again. But he took his anger at Christine out on me, even tried to make me sing her part from _Don Juan Triumphant_.

Why?

I sighed when I returned to the upper world once more. I supposed this meant that I would never see Erik again…then I realized I was still holding his fireplace poker.

It seemed I would have to return that. Hopefully he wouldn't explode on me again.


	12. Amends (Erik)

(A/N: So...yeah...I don't really have an excuse for neglecting this. But I make amends by offering you a nice, long chapter that features the daroga!)

* * *

Life just wasn't being fair to me. First I saw Christine again only to lose her again; then I scared Angelique away, and now _he_ had come to see me.

"Haven't you learned to trust me yet, Daroga?" I grumbled as that Persian pest calmly invited himself into _my_ house.

"It was all over the newspapers this morning that the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny made an unexpected visit to the Opera Populaire last evening, and although there were no reports of any chandeliers crashing, I wanted to see for myself if you behaved yourself," the daroga explained calmly.

I gestured around the house. "Do you see any signs of trouble here? No, Daroga, I left her alone. She did come down here once, but she left almost immediately. In fact, she said she should not have come back. Does that satisfy you?"

"I suppose it will have to," the daroga shrugged. His jade eyes narrowed. "But something else is bothering you, Erik. What is it?"

"Nothing," I muttered.

"I know you're lying."

"You know, I think you're starting to lose your detective's instinct if you're accusing perfectly truthful people of lying."

"Erik," the daroga shook his head. "I don't know why you won't let me help you."

"Maybe I don't need your help anymore. Did you ever stop to consider that?"

At that moment, the doorbell sounded (my name for the alarm system I've installed to keep intruders out).

"I didn't know you were expecting company," the daroga remarked.

"I'm not. Stay here." I rose from my chair, coiling the Punjab lasso.

"Just don't kill whoever's out there," the daroga called after me.

Ignoring him, I approached the intruder…only to find Angelique standing in front of me with the fireplace poker from last night. A white handkerchief hung limply from the top.

"I come under a flag of truce," she announced. "I accidentally took your fireplace poker with me last night." She carefully untied the handkerchief and handed me the metal rod. "I came to bring it back. But the handkerchief's mine, so I'm taking it back with me."

It pained me more than I had expected to hear Angelique's voice so aloof, so similar to how she sounded when we first met. But her eyes showed pain, and I realized exactly how I had hurt her last night.

"Angelique." I spoke her name softly and reached out my hand, but she backed away and put a hand to where I had grabbed her arm last night.

She looked down, her voice barely a whisper. "I was beginning to think I loved you…and then…this." She pushed up her sleeve to reveal a horrid purple bruise…a bruise I had given her.

The shock of seeing the outcome of my anger caused me to forget her other words: _I was beginning to think I loved you_…

"Look at me, Angelique." I tiled her chin so her eyes would meet mine. The sorrow in them was enough to make my heart break, and my voice broke a few times as I told her, "I am so sorry. I never…oh, Angie, it will never happen again."

"You called me Angie," she blinked in surprise. "Pierre's the only one who ever did that. Don't be sorry about it, though; I like it." She chose that moment to hug me. "I forgive you, Erik, even if I was skeptical about coming back here after last night."

I couldn't think of how to reply…fortunately, I didn't have to.

"So…is this the new Christine Daae?" the daroga inquired in an amazing combination of accusation, sarcasm, and snideness.

I turned my harsh gaze on him. "Don't you _ever_ talk that way about her again," I growled. "Angelique is completely different."

"Yes, apparently I'm an instrument of revenge," Angelique added with a hint of sarcasm. "But it all works out for me because I've become a better singer, and he lets me pillage his bookshelves. Who are you?"

"Angelique, this is Nadir Khan, a daroga from Persia," I introduced.

"Daroga?" Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"It's his title; he was the chief of police," I explained. "Daroga, this is Mademoiselle Angelique Descartes, my pupil. And I must say that she is a much better friend than you ever were."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Monsieur Khan," Angelique spoke politely, offering Nadir her hand, which he accepted and kissed.

"The pleasure is mine, Mademoiselle. If you don't mind my asking, how did you meet Erik?"

"You can talk later," I interrupted. "Right now I think we should all head inside—and, Angelique, I have something that should help that bruise."

It certainly turned into an interesting afternoon, having Angelique sit at my kitchen table while I treated her arm and listened to her narrate the story of our meeting to the daroga, who was naturally suspicious. But he didn't say anything to her, instead telling her a much-edited version of how we had met in Persia. She seemed to enjoy it, and I couldn't tell if she knew parts were being left out or not.

It's strange to say, but I felt…happy. True to my life, however, the happiness didn't last long when the doorbell rang for the second time that day.

Everyone instinctively froze. "Does anyone else know you're here, Erik?" Nadir questioned quietly.

"No one. Everyone thinks I'm dead," I insisted.

"What about you, Angelique? Would anyone be looking for you here?"

Angelique shook her head. "No. No one knows about my lessons with Erik."

I rose and gathered the Punjab lasso. "I'll see who it is. And before you say anything, Daroga, no, I won't do any killing."

I wasn't looking at him, but I just knew he was smirking. Ignoring him, I made my way outside cautiously, making sure I stayed as hidden as possible.

It wasn't long before voices drifted through the air. "I don't know what Christine saw last night, but it couldn't have been him. He's long gone, Monsieur le Vicomte."

Madame Giry and the boy! Christine must have told them about coming down here the night before, and they wanted to see for themselves.

"Christine wouldn't make up something like this. If she said she saw him, well, it's up to us to make sure he doesn't bother her again."

This wasn't good. I hurried back to house, making as little noise as possible. Once I got there, I announced tersely, "Madame Giry and that boy are on their way down here. We have to go."

"Go where?" Angelique wanted to know.

Nadir understood me immediately. "The back door. Of course. Come, Angelique; we must hurry."

Angelique still looked confused but took his hand and practically ran to keep up with him. I came last in case I had to head off the intruders—there was no sense in having them bother two innocent people (although I savored a brief mental image of the daroga clashing with Madame Giry).

I was worried at how well the daroga seemed to know all of the hidden passages—would I never get a moment's peace from that man? It was probably a good thing, though, because the two of us were able to keep Angelique from panicking (she had trouble seeing in the dark and tripped more than once on unseen obstacles).

Soon we came to a passage that led back into the hallway. The daroga and Angelique stepped outside into the light; I remained in the shadows.

"How do you think they got down there?" Angelique wondered.

"Madame Giry showed the boy the way there once before. There are many ways to my lair."

"Shouldn't you do something about them? What if they discover you're still alive?"

Before I had a chance to answer, Angelique spoke again, "Wait, I know! I'll find where they went down, pretend I followed them there, and they'll turn back to get me back to the surface!"

"Angelique"—I began, but she didn't listen. She instead darted down the hallway, looking for a secret entrance that had been perhaps carelessly left open.

The daroga chuckled. "Erik, if you have an ounce of sense, you'll marry that girl because you'll never find someone else who actually likes you as much as she does."

"Shut up, Daroga."

Marry Angelique? The idea was absurd. And yet…I felt far happier than I ought to knowing that she and I were back on speaking terms.


	13. Growing Concerns (Angelique)

(A/N: I decided to have Erik have yellow/gold eyes in keeping with the book. That is all.)

* * *

Lessons are…different after that big kerfuffle. Erik is kinder and doesn't lose his patience as readily. I think it's his way of trying to make everything up to me. I think, in his own weird way, he really does care about me outside of his grandiose plan of revenge.

Even if he does, I really should get a better grip on my emotions. I don't want to think of him any way other than as the utterly bizarre yet fascinating musician who has taught me more than I ever hoped to learn here and has become my friend after a fashion.

Despite my own confusion, my life is almost perfect…and would be perfect if it weren't for two small problems that threaten to become much, much larger.

The first is Madame Giry. Lately she has been giving me strange looks as I practice; I wonder if she suspects that Erik is teaching me. In retrospect, my plan to distract her and the Vicomte de Chagny from investigating the lair probably wasn't the brightest, but it was all I could think of at the moment. Now I wonder if I inadvertently roused her suspicions. But if she has been back down there, Erik hasn't said anything to me.

The second is Christine de Chagny. I have heard rumors that the managers wish to have her sing for a limited engagement. I do not know if her new life as a vicomtess will have any impact on her decision, but I'm afraid of what would happen if she agreed. I'm afraid of what Erik would do.

I have not told him about the rumors, figuring that he probably already heard them. He was—and still is—the Opera Ghost; he knows everything that happens in the Opera Populaire. Also—and this is quite selfish of me, I know—I'm afraid he'd abandon me for her, his first student…his best student. She's married now, but that might not stop him.

I was right; Erik had already heard the rumors…and his plan is utterly insane.

"What's this, Erik?" I asked, reaching out to a large, shapeless bundle that took up most of his sofa space. I had arrived for my lesson to find Erik busy composing—which was not unusual—and this big, mysterious sack inhabiting the parlor—which was completely new.

"Ah, ah! Don't touch that!" Erik got up from his organ and shifted the sack, which was threatening to topple onto the floor. "That's my costume for the masquerade ball—I can't very well go twice as Red Death."

I was certain I had misheard him. "What masquerade?"

He looked at me as if disgusted by my stupidity. "The company's annual masquerade ball—surely you've heard of it."

"Of course I have; I don't live under a rock—or a theater, for that matter. But why are _you_ going? You don't like people, remember? That's why you live down here."

"Come now, Angelique. If I didn't like people, I wouldn't like you." He sat back down at the organ.

"But I am not a people. I am a hobgoblin, a creature of the dark like you," I responded, echoing something he said in one of his poetic, melodramatic moods. I walked over and rested my arm on the organ.

Erik studied me as if seeing me for the first time. "Not quite," he mused slowly, almost as if he were thinking out loud. "You're not completely in the dark like me. There's some light in you, too."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that, so I changed the subject. "You still haven't answered my question."

"I do not believe I have to tell you anything."

"It's me or the daroga."

Erik sighed heavily. "Fine…but if word of this reaches the daroga"—

"Your reputation is safe with me, Erik," I interrupted.

He paused for a moment. "Christine will be there," he finally whispered, a glow lightening his golden eyes. "I—I just want to see her again…and maybe she'll sing…"

"And maybe she'll recognize you," I reminded him.

"No. This costume is perfect; no one would possibly suspect the Opera Ghost had returned."

"Well…I suppose as long as there's no kidnapping or murder…"

His gazed locked with mine. "You're not convinced."

"No," I agreed slowly. "I don't think this is a good idea."

"But fortunately for me, I was not asking your advice. You pestered me, so I complied to satisfy your curiosity so we can get on with your lesson. You're getting much better with the higher register."

Erik seemed pleased with my progress that afternoon, but all I could do was imagine the possible outcomes of his going to the masquerade and meeting with Christine once more.


	14. Masquerade, Round II (Erik)

(A/N: The last line of the chapter is actually borrowed from _Love Never Dies_, which I don't especially like, but it seemed to fit Erik's current mood. Also, the idea for the metal mask came from the original costume ideas for _The Phantom of the Opera_. It was later changed to the white half-mask because it was easier to sing in, but you can see the original mask in the 1980's music video, watch?v=Ny5H9GiVP_0. Just...try not to laugh too hard.

I would like to thank everyone who has been reviewing my story; your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated.)

* * *

My costume really was perfect—a metal mask covered almost my entire face, and I was dressed in long dark blue robes. There was nothing that anyone could possibly use to connect me to the Opera Ghost. I had enough material left over that I considered making a costume for Angelique as well, but somehow I didn't think she would appreciate it.

Angelique has not kept her disapproval of my plan a secret. I can see the skeptical doubt in her grey eyes every time she looks at me. What does she think I'm going to do? Doesn't she understand that my life revolved around Christine for years, and I can't just let her go? Just to see her smile again, maybe even to hear the angelic voice that haunted my dreams long after she had gone—that's all I want. Then I would be content to retreat into the bowels of the opera house for all eternity; Angelique won't need me much longer anyway. I haven't told her yet, but she has almost mastered everything I have to teach her, and the critics have been raving about her. She's had a few small parts in various productions, and every time the critics have gone out of her way to praise her. She doesn't know—silly girl thinks her parts are too small for anyone to notice her. But they do…and soon my revenge will be complete.

She may not have been willing at first, but she has come around. She's enjoying this—even if she'd never admit it…just as she'd never admit to liking that feathered headdress I made her wear for her first recital, yet she was wearing it and the black dress I made for her at the masquerade. I could see her standing by the punch bowl with a few other students from the Opera, laughing and seeming to enjoy herself. I considered walking past to see if she recognized me-if Angelique couldn't tell it was me, then I had a fair chance of avoiding detection on all fronts. Of course, there was always the faint chance that Christine, Raoul, Madame Giry, or Meg would recognize me by my eyes, but most of the time they were too busy staring at the mask to pay attention to eye color.

Before I could walk over there, however, I heard the sound my ears had been longing for—Christine's voice. She wasn't singing, merely talking, but it was enough to remind me of those heavenly days when I was her Angel of Music.

As surreptitiously as possible, I glided over to the wall so I could watch her better while remaining (mostly) hidden. Oh, she was even more beautiful than the last time I saw her, dressed in white and gold with her brown curls pinned up…she was the one who looked like an angel.

"Just remember what we talked about—look, but don't touch."

I jumped slightly when I heard the voice at my elbow and looked down at my new companion. "Well met, Angelique. How did you know it was me?"

"You weren't very subtle once you saw Christine." She took a sip from her punch glass. "Don't worry, though; I think I'm the only one who saw." Her voice took on a wistful quality. "She is very beautiful, isn't she?"

I couldn't help but feel a shred of pity and compassion for Angelique. She was in an opera house surrounded by beauty while she herself was anything but—a situation I understood all too well. Granted, she was actually looking a bit better fed than when she first arrived, but she still seemed unnaturally thin.

"You mustn't compare yourself to her—to any of them," I instructed, "not when you have the potential to become so much more."

Angelique gave me an unfathomable look. "I can never be another Christine, Erik."

I was not sure what that was supposed to mean, and my own answer surprised me. "And I would not want you to be."

Angelique blinked, unsure how to take my response. Before she could formulate a reply, though, the music started playing once more. To avoid looking suspicious, I led Angelique onto the floor and took her in dance position.

"Isn't it customary to ask the lady before dragging her out into the maelstrom?" she questioned wryly.

"Like you would have refused. And since when do you know how to use 'maelstrom' in a sentence?"

"Blame it on your library."

I couldn't help it; I smirked a little. Angelique had the ability to make me laugh when before all I could do was brood on my many misfortunes. And, I admit, I was enjoying dancing with her. I had often imagined how it would feel to dance with Christine, to hold her in my arms as we glide across a room, lost in the music. But Angelique was a good partner in her own right…is she becoming something more to me?

The music stopped, and the managers called for everyone's attention. As usual, Madame Giry had to bang her stick against the floor before anyone bothered to pay attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are very pleased to welcome you once more to our annual masquerade ball. On this auspicious occasion"—

"Get to the point, Firman!" someone shouted.

After glowering about for the culprit, Firman continued, "As some of you may have heard, we have been in negotiations with Madame la Vicomtess de Chagny, whom everyone here remembers as Christine Daae, to have her sing at the opera house once more. After many conversations, she has agreed to return and play Marguerite in our next season's production of _Faust_."

Wild cheers and clapping ensued as _that boy_ led Christine onto the stairs where Firman and Andre stood. She smiled—oh, that smile! What I wouldn't give to have her smile at me that way…

"Sing something, Christine!" Firman's heckler called out.

"Yes, sing something!"

_Yes, yes, sing_! I silently cried. _Sing for me, my angel; let me know you still love me_!

Christine did sing. No one might understand why she chose "Think of Me", but I knew. She alone knew the mob had not killed me—well, she, Angelique, and the daroga—and tonight she sang for her old teacher; I was certain of it. Did some sixth sense alert her to my presence?

After the uproarious applause, I dimly heard Angelique remark upon auditioning for the role of Siebel in _Faust_, but I didn't pay attention. I spun around and headed back to my lair, a plan forming in my mind.

"Erik, wait! Where are you going?" Angelique dashed down the halls behind me, tripping on her skirt as she ran.

I waited for her to catch up—I wanted to express my thrill to someone. "Angie, did you hear her? Wasn't she divine? And she sang for me tonight, for _me_! She still loves me; she proved it! And now I know how to claim her once and for all."

I began to descend to lake, and Angelique followed. She seemed awfully determined about something.

"Erik, she's married! You have to leave her alone."

A maniacal grin spread across my face. "There are ways to arrange things so the boy no longer matters…and Christine and I shall be together forever. _The crowd will hush, and then in one sweet rush, I will hear you sing once more_!"


	15. Confessions (Angelique)

(A/N: I would like to thank Almost an Actress for her latest review; it really made my day! Onwards and upwards now...)

* * *

I am forced to admit it—I am jealous. I have tried very hard not to be but have failed. Does that make me a bad person?

I am jealous that Erik spies on our _Faust_ rehearsals not to see how I'm doing but to watch Christine. I've seen him out of the corner of my eye, lurking in dark shadows where he thinks no one can see him. But I can usually tell when he's there. If I don't see a gleam from where the stage lights catch the mask, I can usually feel his eyes on me…or see them glow.

I should not care as much as I do; this was purely mercenary from the beginning. There is nothing that binds us; there never has been. And yet it still hurts to think he's forgotten me. Well, he hasn't forgotten me completely; he did help me practice for auditions. Since Siebel was the biggest role I've auditioned for so far, I wanted to do it justice. But lately I've had to practice on my own. He's practically banished me from the lair, saying he needs complete solitude to finish his plan.

This whole situation is making me sick, sometimes to the point where I don't want to go to rehearsals…maybe even stop singing completely. But, no, I loved to sing long before I knew Erik. There's no reason for me to stop just because the Opera Ghost has discarded me for his true love.

Why does it hurt to think of how I will never be that important to him?

"Angelique!" a voice hissed from the shadows behind the curtains.

I sighed and pushed back the heavy drapes. We were on a brief break from rehearsals, and I had been wandering around, stretching my legs.

As I expected, Erik was waiting for me in all his ghostly glory. "Oh, so you finally want to see me again. Have I done something to displease you, maestro?" I couldn't keep the snark out of my voice.

To my complete surprise, Erik looked contrite. "I am sorry I haven't been helping you more, Angelique…but the good news is that you have been doing quite well without me. Your voice is a bit lackluster at times, but we'll be able to work on that now that I'm finished."

"Finished with what?" I wanted to know.

He produced something from underneath his cloak. It looked squishy but had ties on it, so it was definitely a mask…but a mask in the shape of a face.

"I've been working on this for a long time—it's a mask that gives me a normal face. It was only recently that I've had incentive to finish it."

"With Christine being the incentive," I summarized.

"Yes," he affirmed, his eyes taking on that strange glow they held whenever he spoke of her. "I can re-enter her life as a fellow musician and opera lover, show her that I can be as normal as any other man…and then I can reveal myself to her, and she will see that her Angel of Music is not the monster she fled."

"You're forgetting the ring on her finger," I pointed out. That always seemed to be the big flaw in this grand plan; he kept forgetting about the Vicomte.

His eyes and voice hardened. "There are ways around the boy."

I had never seen that hardness in his eyes before, but some intuition warned me of its meaning. "Erik, you wouldn't…oh, yes, you would, but I won't allow it! You're not killing the Vicomte!"

"I do not believe I am answerable to you for my actions, Angelique." His voice became even harder and colder. "You're a worse pest than the daroga."

The daroga! I might be able to warn him of what Erik was planning. "We pester you because we must…and because murder is wrong."

"Laws were made for men, not monsters."

I was slowly losing my temper and raising my voice as a result. "You are not a monster; you merely choose to believe that so you can do as you please. But I know you better, Erik; you're just as human as the rest of us."

The condescending look on his face was infuriating. "Poor Angelique—you've blinded yourself to the bitter reality of what your mentor really is, a deformed freak who should have died long ago."

I stamped my foot in childish rage. "And _you've_ blinded yourself to what _you_ really are, a man made in the image and likeness of God, no better and no worse than the rest of us!"

"Foolish girl, you don't really believe that, do you?"

"You do not believe that I _can_ believe it, but I do," I hissed. "Oh, Erik, I do. I love you, and so help me, I will _not_ stand by and let you stain your soul with murder again!"

Erik blinked and stepped back a pace. Myself, I flushed violently as I realized what had just left my mouth. I had never intended to tell _anyone_, let alone him, how and what I felt for him. I could barely even admit it to myself, but now I had to live with my stupidity.

The consequences surprised me. Instead of shouting at me or ordering me away as I had expected, Erik moved closer, a look of reverent awe on his face. A cold, skeletal hand came up to brush against my cheek.

"You…love me." His voice was a whisper, and I was almost certain he was going to start crying, and I was too busy feeling awkward and flustered to deal with a crying Opera Ghost. "No one's ever said that to me before…not even my mother…not even Christine. Angelique…Angelique, you're the first…" He trailed off and gently kissed my forehead. And true to my suspicions, he started crying.

"Mademoiselle Descartes! Angelique, where are you; break's over!"

It was time to return to rehearsals, yet I felt I couldn't leave Erik like this.

"I have to go, Erik, but I'll come down to the lair once I'm finished here," I told him.

He nodded, silent tears still dripping from his eyes. I returned to the stage but had difficulty concentrating on my part.

Had I just made the biggest mistake of my life?


	16. Confusion (Erik)

(A/N: If Erik seems a bit...stranger than usual in this chapter, keep in mind that in the last chapter he heard the words "I love you" for the very first time in his entire life, which is messing with his thinking a little bit.

On another note, thanks for the reviews, everyone! Seeing the support brings me great happiness and motivates me to write more.)

* * *

It was the first time in my life I ever heard those words, and now it was the first time my heart ever felt light, that I ever wanted to smile for the sake of smiling. This must be what happiness feels like.

But why did it come from Angelique? Why her? I couldn't stop asking that as I pounded on my organ, trying to distract myself from my confusion. It should have been Christine; I had _wanted_ it to be Christine! And yet my angel had never said it to me; she had run from me to be with her boy.

Angelique, now—Angelique had never run from me. She had seen my face but hadn't screamed in horror or fainted or done anything hurtful and dramatic. Now that I thought about it, I realized she had treated me the way she treated practically everyone…and I found myself forced to admit that I loved her for it.

No, this wasn't right! Christine, Christine! I loved the angel, not the hobgoblin! And yet…and yet…I kept remembering all of our lessons, the way she would stay long after practice was done just to read, her various triumphs at recitals and operas no matter how small the role—yes, I even remembered the time she slapped me after I called her a hobgoblin.

She had insinuated herself into my life without my realizing it. Now that I did realize it, I had to admit that I wanted her to stay…even after she had finished her time with me and had become the finest singer in all the land, I wanted her to keep coming to visit me, to make those annoying, sarcastic remarks when she thinks I'm being melodramatic, to grin simply because she is happy to be around me.

I stopped playing and limply rested my hands against the keys, a short laugh escaping. I felt…I felt…I don't know what I felt because it was completely different from anything I'd experienced before, even with Christine.

"It never ceases to amaze me how you can pound on that thing for hours on end and not be deaf already."

I half-turned to see Angelique standing in the doorway, still in her Siebel costume. It accentuated her thinness, and yet I somehow saw her as beautiful.

"Give me a moment, Angelique." I turned back to replace my mask and wig, which I had removed while playing.

"You needn't bother—I've seen your face before, and I don't plan to stay long."

I watched her curiously as she came to stand by the organ. Something in her voice seemed aloof, which puzzled me. Why would she be aloof after what she just told me? We ought to be celebrating or…or…well, I don't quite know what people normally do after confessing to love, but I imagine it's not supposed to be talking in aloof voices.

Angelique folded her hands behind her back and inhaled deeply. "I—I wish to apologize for what I said earlier."

_Apologize!? No, Angie, surely you haven't deserted me, too_!

"You are my friend and have become very dear to me, but you are my instructor first and foremost. Anything else would be…wrong."

"Wrong? No, Angelique, you did nothing wrong." I gently reached for her hands and held them in mine. "Don't you understand the great gift you have given me?" I freed one of her hands to tilt her chin so I could look her in the eye. "Look at me, Angie…for you are the only one who can look at me without fear."

Her eyes began to fill with tears, and she bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. "I never wanted to tell you," she breathed. "I was ashamed…not because of your face, never that. It's just…we can't be together."

"Why not? If there's someone else"—

"No, no, of course not—and even if there was, you wouldn't be allowed to kill him, either."

"Then why?" I was genuinely curious, and I admit to being just a little hopeful. Perhaps these obstacles weren't as bad as she thought.

"Reason 1: the age gap. You're much older than I am—I don't know by how much, but it exists."

I snorted. "When you put it like that, you make me sound older than Methuselah."

"For all I know, you are." Her tears had started to subside, and her regular personality was returning. "Reason 2: you have the reputation of being a homicidal psychopath."

I began to protest, but Angelique held up her hand to silence me. "Reputation, I said! You've actually greatly improved from the stories I've heard. Still, though, you were once, so common sense says that's a mark against you."

"Why listen to your common sense when you're in love?" I brought my hand up to caress her cheek. "Do you know how much self-restraint I'm exercising in not whisking you off to a chapel so we can be married right now?"

"I can imagine, and it is greatly appreciated," she replied, "but let me finish. Reason 3: you're still in love with Christine."

Ah, Christine…what were my feelings towards her now? This was probably the most confused I had ever been in my life, remembering Christine yet wanting to be with Angelique.

"That…that doesn't mean…" I faltered.

Angelique smiled and brought her hand up to mine. "I'm confused, too, Erik…so very confused. And I wish I knew what came next."

"So do I, Angelique." I ran my thumb across her cheek, still trying to process that she had been the first person ever to say "I love you" to this horrible, twisted visage I am forced to call a face.

She closed her eyes for a moment before opening them again. Any trace of confusion was gone; to look at her, one would think nothing had happened. "Oh, before I forget again, I'm supposed to invite you to dinner. You see, in two days my sister Regina is having her engagement party, and my parents said I was supposed to invite my voice instructor. They want to meet you after all the help you've given me—and I'm forced to admit that I've praised you."

"They know about me?" My voice rose incredulously.

"They don't know that you're the Opera Ghost if that's what you're worried about," Angelique reassured me. "They just know I've got an instructor who's responsible for getting my voice into shape." On seeing my hesitancy, she argued, "Oh, come on! What else were you planning to do two nights from now, brood down here and further destroy your hearing by seeing how loudly you can play Beethoven?"

"Why do I think you would drag me there by force?"

"That's always an option," she shrugged.

"Fine, I'll come," I relented. "Now enough with the chitchat; you've seemed unusually flat for the last few rehearsals, and I will _not_ have you disgrace my teachings in _Faust_ of all operas."

"Whatever you say, Erik," she smirked, shaking her head.

We commenced a lesson dedicated to perfecting her performance as Siebel, but it was different from our others. My playing seemed more vibrant than usual, and as for Angelique…there was a glow in her eyes that had not been there before.


	17. The Party, Part I (Angelique)

(A/N: This was actually going to be a longer chapter, but when I saw how long it already was, I decided to divide it into two parts. Also, I would like to welcome back newbornphanatic! I was starting to wonder where you were-of course I forgive you.)

* * *

I have been unusually giddy these last two days, and I am not normally a giddy person. It's not just related to the fact that I managed to persuade Erik to adopt something of a social life.

He didn't send me away! He was not angry with me after finally confessing to him! I have not lost him! But I shouldn't get ahead of myself; I don't necessarily have him, either. He is confused—we both are—but at least he's open to the possibility of an "us". I don't know when that would be, but perhaps it's not as much of a crazy dream as I originally thought.

Pierre noticed the difference as soon as I arrived home to help with the preparations for Regina's engagement party. "You seem…cheerful," he remarked carefully as I decorated one of the refreshment tables in the parlor.

"Aren't I normally cheerful?" I reminded him, smoothing the tablecloth. But I was avoiding eye contact with him, and Pierre knew me well enough to take that as a sign that something was different.

"Yes, but…for a moment there you reminded me of Regina when she realized she was in love with Joseph…" he trailed off, his eyes widening as he put the pieces together. "No, it can't be true…not you! I mean—how; the potential husbands that Mama and Papa have been trying to find for you groan at the thought of being married to you!"

"Thank you, dearest brother; I really needed to hear that," I snapped.

Pierre rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen, Angie; you know it's true. However, _I_ have always loved that peculiar face of yours, and I'm not sure I like the idea of having to share it with another."

"You needn't worry, Pierre; no one could possibly compete with you," I smiled at him and kissed the tip of his nose.

"You flatter me, sister, but I still want an answer to my question."

I hesitated, not being sure exactly what to say. Erik and I weren't _together_ per se; it was more like "We're having discussions to figure out exactly how and what we feel for each other", but at the same time there was such affection on both sides that discussions didn't really seem necessary. Yes, over the last two days Erik had been affectionate in his own way. There had been nothing overly dramatic or romantic, just subtle signs—holding my hand a little more gently when going down to the lair, gazing at me as I sang with that same glow in his eyes that was normally present when he spoke of Christine—that despite his confusion, he was just as happy as I was.

"Fine, keep your secrets," Pierre snorted after I didn't respond for several minutes. "I'll find out sooner or later anyway. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to practice for tonight." He began to head towards the piano before stopping and turning back to me. "You will sing with me tonight, right?"

"Wild horses couldn't stop me."

He grinned. "Excellent. I've missed having you sing while I play the piano—it's just not the same without you."

It felt good to hear my brother play the piano again even if it was just practice for tonight's party. It had been one of the things I'd missed the most when I'd taken up residence at the opera house to perfect my singing because Pierre had been the one who first taught me to love music. He himself couldn't sing—his voice was the kind that peels paint off walls—but his prowess on the piano was second only to Erik's. In many ways the piano was a surrogate voice for him, but I have no doubt that if he could sing, we would have entered the opera house together.

"Why, Angelique, it's lovely!" My mother had entered the room and was currently surveying my decorating work. "Regina will love it." She kissed my forehead. "Now all we have to do is find a husband for you."

I half-expected a snide remark from Pierre about being in love already, but he was too engrossed in his Mozart to pay attention. Somehow I suspected he and Erik would be best friends by the end of the party.

Which reminded me…I'd better remind Mama that he was coming; what with Regina's upcoming marriage, she could be a bit scatterbrained. Before I could say anything, though, she continued, "We may not have to search much longer. Your singing tutor has already arrived, and he speaks quite highly of you."

I tried not to be mortified at the matchmaking glint in her eye. Instead I remarked as nonchalantly as possible, "Monsieur Erik has arrived already? He's early."

"Yes, well, I had a small mix-up about the time-I hope you don't mind."

In my time with Erik, I had learned not to be surprised at anything he did, but even so, I was completely unprepared for how he looked now. The mask he wore was the one that gave him a normal face-although I hadn't honestly expected him to show up with the white one. Still, its craftsmanship was so perfect that I never would have known it was him if he hadn't spoken.

"I don't mind in the least," I told him, "although perhaps this will motivate you to finally get a clock." Erik relied mostly on the opera house's daily schedule to let him know what time it was, but often he was so engrossed in his music that lost track of time—which was probably what led to his early arrival today.

Mama looked hopeful at the fact that we were bantering, and I prayed that she wouldn't launch into a list of my redeeming qualities as was her habit whenever a marriageable man was within hearing range. Quite fortunately for me, though, one of the servants called her away with a question about the meal.

"You actually came," I marveled. "Part of me thought you would change your mind at the last minute."

"I was under the impression you were prepared to drag me here by force if I didn't come," Erik explained, "although I must admit that I'd rather be…elsewhere."

He had almost said "my lair" but stopped himself, realizing that we weren't alone.

"You don't need to worry about Pierre," I reassured him. "An asteroid could hit the house right now, and he wouldn't stop playing."

"No, but it might make my fingers slip." He looked away from the music, which was extremely unusual for him. Normally when Pierre played, he was oblivious to everything and everybody. "So you are Monsieur Erik. My sister has spoken very highly of you." He had adopted a lofty tone, and there was a challenge in his eyes.

Yes, Pierre knew me far too well. Without my saying anything, he had discerned that Erik was the object of my affection, and he had decided to find out exactly what and how Erik thought of me. I couldn't decide if I was mortified that he read me so easily or glad that he was looking out for me.

Erik's eyes narrowed, ready for a challenge. "And you must be Pierre. Your sister has remarked that you are her favorite brother."

"Yes, well, you probably never would have met her if it hadn't been for me. I am the one who taught her to love music, and it was that love that drove her to the opera house…and to you."

"Angelique has told me much about that part of her life."

"Has she now?" Pierre's grin turned manic. I decided to leave before he started embarrassing me. Besides, I had to get dressed for the party. It wouldn't take me very long to get ready since I wasn't going to apply makeup-it just tends to make my face look worse, so I normally wear stage makeup at performances and leave my face bare the rest of the time. Hopefully by the time I was dressed, Pierre would be done humiliating me behind my back.

Preparing for parties had never been a particularly favorite activity of mine since it always seemed that no amount of work could make me look even a tenth as gorgeous as the guests always did—and no one ever seemed sure how to react to me. Yet after knowing Erik, I somehow felt more confident about the whole situation. Just having him in my thoughts made me smile and made everything else seem tolerable.

In my thoughts…wow. I'm more in love that I originally thought.

"Monsieur Khan? What are you doing here?" I had just been about to rejoin Erik and Pierre in the parlor from where the most heavenly piano music was emanating, but the sight of the last face I expected to see distracted me. "And more importantly, how did you get in here?"

"Police privilege," he informed me solemnly. "And I'm here because—well, because of Erik."

"What do you mean?" Had Erik told Nadir he was planning to come? That didn't seem like something he would do, but with Erik one never knows.

He glanced around cautiously. "Raoul and Christine de Chagny will be here tonight; apparently the Vicomte is friends with Joseph Poisson, your sister's fiancé—I'm assuming Regina Descartes is your sister."

"Yes," I answered slowly, trying to figure out how to tell him. Not discerning a better way, I decided to be blunt. "Monsieur Khan, Erik is already here. I invited him."

Nadir hissed. "Fool! Why would you tempt Erik so?"

"I wasn't trying to tempt him; I didn't know that Joseph knew the Vicomte, and I certainly wasn't expecting the de Chagnys to show up tonight!" I hissed back. "I invited Erik because my parents wanted to meet my voice instructor, and Erik really does need a better social life!" I sighed, trying to compose myself again. "He's in the parlor now with my brother Pierre. Let me go in first—I may be able to persuade Erik not to strangle you on sight."

I wasn't sure how well my efforts would go—at keeping Erik calm or keeping Pierre in the dark. Having to tell Erik that Nadir was here would be difficult enough without the added difficulty of my brother piecing together Erik's real identity from fragmented conversations.

"Wow…I never would have thought of doing it that way," Pierre commented in surprise.

"Not many people would," Erik agreed. They were sharing the piano bench and were completely engrossed in the sheet music before them. True to my suspicions, they appeared to have become fast friends. "Now let's try again."

They pressed down on the keys, and the sound they made—oh, it was indescribable! Their joint love of music made the melody soar through the room, and it permeated every part of my body. My mouth opened of its own accord, my voice joining with their piano playing.

"Easy, Angie," Pierre laughed, halting his playing. "Save some of that for tonight; everyone wants to hear you again."

"Foolish boy," Erik scoffed. "That was a gift for her teacher." He approached me and gently stroked his finger along my throat.

Pierre joined us. "And what a teacher you have been." He draped his arm around my shoulders and pointed at Erik. "I know everything, Angie, and as your brother, I order you to marry that man as soon as possible and name your firstborn after me."

Pierre approved! That brought me more joy than either of them would ever know. "What if it's a girl?" I countered.

"Pierre would make a very charming girl's name," my incorrigible brother shrugged.

My laughter was cut off rather abruptly by a thickly-accented voice.

"So I was right—she was the new Christine Daae."

"Nadir! What are you doing here, man?"

"Who is he?" Pierre whispered.

"Shut up and play your Mozart," I told him, striding over to where Erik and Nadir stood. Erik looked livid, so I figured I might be needed to prevent bloodshed—it would be terribly awkward having to explain to Mama how blood got on her Great-Aunt Mathilde's rug.

Apparently Erik was extremely insulted that Nadir thought he would go so far as to kill the Vicomte de Chagny. "Nadir, I let her go—I let. Her. Go," he ground out. "Besides," he added, placing a hand on my shoulder, "Angelique loves me for myself, so I no longer desire the boy's blood. She has given me the humanity that has eluded me since the day I was born."

"There are still a few rough patches, mind you," I added, "but he's less psychotic now."

"Psychotic? Daae, de Chagny? What…" Pierre had snuck up on us and had been listening all along. His eyes widened as he connected the dots—he had heard the story; all of Paris had. His mouth moved silently for a few minutes before he finally managed to choke out, "I just ordered my sister to marry the Phantom of the Opera. What is wrong with me?"

"You just told me to name a girl Pierre. That's what should get you to ask what's wrong with you," I retorted, hoping to snap him out of it.

Pierre still looked dazed.

Before we could do anything, though, more guests started to filter into the parlor. The party was about to begin.


	18. The Party, Part II (Angelique)

(A/N: I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but...I'm afraid there are only two chapters after this one. All good things must come to an end, unfortunately. I wish I had been able to create a little more conflict/drama/what-have-you, but when I tried to put it into the story, it seemed a little forced and unnatural. However, I have had plans bouncing around in my head for a sequel-if anyone's interested, that is-and it would probably have a wider scale and a little bit of Angelique/Erik/Christine/Raoul awkwardness.

Anyways, onwards and upwards...)

* * *

The next hour dragged on far too long—mostly because of how strained things felt with Pierre and me, but the added tension of having a now-handsome Erik in the same room with a "remember-she's-married-now" Christine and an "I'm-watching-you" Nadir glowering at them in a corner didn't help matters, either. It wasn't long before I was standing in a corner, alone with a piece of cake. Fortunately that didn't arouse anyone's suspicions because that was what I usually ended up doing at parties anyway.

Rather, it didn't arouse the suspicions of anyone who knew me well. It did, however, attract the attention of a certain Viscountess.

"Your sister's getting married, Angelique; you should be celebrating!" Christine mock scolded. We had become fairly well acquainted over the last several weeks since we were performing in _Faust_ together. She was a very sweet woman, but I always felt a little awkward around her because of her connection to Erik.

"I am celebrating," I informed her. "My cake and I are celebrating together. It's tradition."

Regina came up then, looking even more beautiful than usual. "You must excuse my sister, Christine. She doesn't always control her sarcasm." She had dark hair and grey eyes as I did, but her complexion was flawless. Numerous suitors had tried to win her hand before she agreed to marry Joseph Poisson. Needless to say, none of those former suitors ever tried to court me instead.

"It's all right, Regina," Christine laughed. "Angelique is perfectly entitled to eat her cake in peace."

"It's a shame I have to break it up," Pierre interrupted. He snagged my elbow and dragged me off, whispering, "We need to talk."

I could guess what was on his mind, and I was right. Pierre led me to the now-deserted library, secured the door, and faced me sternly.

"The first question that comes to mind is, 'What were you thinking?'" His eyes snapped in anger.

I sighed. How could I explain everything to Pierre when he could not possibly understand my motives? "Erik and I were the same," I answered slowly. "He…understood me. He didn't…he didn't treat me…differently because of my face."

The flame began to die in Pierre's eyes, but he was far from pacified. "I'm not sure I understand."

"You'll never understand because you've never experienced what I have," I laughed ruefully. "All of my life, people have either gone out of their way to be nice to me or made me feel like so much insignificant dirt. Erik was the only one who _ever_ took a genuine interest in me for myself."

Pierre looked insulted. "Haven't I?"

"You're my brother; you don't count." I paused, reflecting on my time with my strange tutor. "That, I think, is what drew me to him…and what led me to love him." I looked Pierre straight in the eye. "I wasn't looking to fall in love with him, Pierre; I had more sense than that. And yet…I love him anyway."

Pierre looked as if he was beginning to waver, so I decided to press my advantage. "You spent time with him this afternoon—you got to know the real Erik, the one I love, not the Phantom of the Opera. And you liked him; I could tell. Yes, I know his past is not pretty, but he has changed, Pierre. He's different now."

"You really love him, don't you?" Pierre now looked understanding.

There was no hesitancy in my voice. "With all of my heart."

A muffled…something came from behind the door; it was impossible to tell precisely what the sound was. I was disturbed, however, because it meant that someone had been eavesdropping and now probably knew both Erik's real identity and the fact that I loved him. Could this evening get any worse?

The two faces Pierre and I encountered were not the faces I expected, though. "What the…why were you eavesdropping!?"

Erik did not look the least apologetic, but at least Nadir had the good sense to look sheepish. "It was his idea," the daroga explained, pointing at Erik.

"Nadir did not believe me when I said that you loved me for myself, so I figured he would believe it if he heard you say it," Erik explained smugly. "I also knew your brother would want to confront you about falling in love with a monster, so this was the ideal conversation to convince Nadir."

"And are you convinced, Monsieur Khan?" I questioned, arching my eyebrow to disguise the fact that I was desperately hoping this was just some crazy dream I was having. Everything had been so insane tonight that it couldn't possibly be real.

Nadir looked from Erik to me and back to Erik. "Yes, I must say that I am," he admitted reluctantly. "I knew the first time I saw you both together that he was special to you—and you to him. I even joked that Erik should marry you because you were probably the only person who genuinely liked him. I guess...I guess I never seriously believed it would happen."

It was Erik's turn to look insulted.

"And what of you, Pierre?" I turned to my brother. "Are you convinced of my sanity now?"

"Not yet," Pierre mused. "Not yet. But at the same time I can't be mad—I know I ought to be, but the things he said about you this afternoon…he loves you, Angie, and would never dream of hurting you. And—and I can't help but be happy that someone has finally looked past your appearance and fallen for _you_."

"Oh, Pierre," I smiled, pulling him in for a hug. "I love you. You're the best brother in the world; you know that?"

Erik tugged me free impatiently. "Yes, yes, Pierre's all wonderful; aren't we all happy?" he snarked.

"And what is your problem all of a sudden?" I demanded.

"You need to run through your scales."

"What? Why?"

His voice lowered. "The time for my revenge has come."


	19. Sharing in My Triumph (Erik)

(A/N: Next-to-last chapter, guys! There's an epilogue after this.

I decided to go with Destler for Erik's surname since it seemed to fit him, and I couldn't come up with anything clever, either. Besides, I've always seen Erik as being German/Scandanavian in origin although I know the book says he was born near Rouen. Maybe he was born in France to German/Scandanavian parents.)

* * *

It was not entirely as I had planned it—I had in mind some grand performance at the Opera Populaire for Angelique and me to triumph. But as the guests gathered for her sister's party, I began to see how perfect this situation would be. Her voice was practically perfect now; it would astound those who had heretofore ignored her in favor of her beautiful sister.

I realized it would have to be here and not at the Populaire. She had already earned the respect of the strangers who packed the seats to hear the ugly child with the divine voice…now it was time to claim the respect of those who should have respected her all along.

Angelique, Pierre, Nadir, and I re-entered the parlor to hear the sounds of Christine's singing one of Marguerite's arias from _Faust_—no doubt someone heard that she was playing the lead role in the opera.

Hearing Christine, I was forced to face my own indecision regarding Angelique. I felt strongly for her, yes, but was it enough? Could I be happy with her and never miss Christine? My angel's voice had lost none of its intoxicating sweetness…oh, the memories it brought back! But at the same time, they were just memories; they weren't pulling me back to her. I was almost sure now what I felt for Angelique, but I wasn't certain—wouldn't be certain until she sung.

Christine finished and gave a small bow as the guests clapped and cheered enthusiastically. A pained looked crossed Angelique's face for the briefest of moments before she replaced it with a friendly smile.

"Christine, you were wonderful!" Regina gushed, walking over to take Christine's hands in congratulations.

"Thank you," Christine returned. Spying where Angelique stood, she added, "But have you heard your sister recently? She's playing Siebel in _Faust_, and I must say she's the best Siebel I've ever heard."

This statement seemed to make Angelique uncomfortable. "You're really too kind," she excused.

"Nonsense, you're too modest," Christine returned firmly, actually leading Angelique over to the piano. Pierre joined them and sat on the piano bench, figuring his skills would be called upon. "Go on; sing one of Siebel's pieces! Maybe it will get them to come," she joked.

Angelique clasped her hands in front of her and glanced over at me nervously. _Well, what do I do_? her eyes seemed to ask. I had told her in the library that she was to sing what I chose for her…and I had something quite different in mind for her.

This was it. True, I was daunted by the fact that I would actually have to talk to Christine, but the moment of my revenge had arrived, and nothing would stop me.

"No offense, Madame de Chagny, but there's another song I'd like to hear my student sing—practically everyone has heard Siebel already." I managed to speak without choking; I was very proud of myself.

Christine looked surprised—but just that I had spoken; her eyes held no recognition. It hurt a little, but at the same time I was relieved. "Oh, you're Angelique's teacher? You've taught her well."

"Thank you—I like to think so. Pierre, move."

After giving me a curious glance, Pierre slid off the bench and motioned for me to replace him. He gave Angelique an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder and slipped off to stand next to Nadir. Now _there_ was a frightening alliance; as I had drilled Angelique on her scales, they had compared notes on us and come to the conclusion that we were perfect for each other. I wished I could share their compunction; I _hated_ this indecision!

"What did you have in mind?" Angelique wanted to know. Her hands were now folded in front of her, and she looked a perfect student—even if she had sometimes been otherwise.

"_Dies Irae_."

Unsettled murmurs rustled through the room. Angelique herself looked surprised.

"The _Dies Irae_? Why the requiem chant?"

I tilted her chin upwards. "I have my reasons. Do you trust me or not?"

"Of course," Angelique acquiesced.

I had chosen the _Dies Irae_ because it had long been one of my favorite pieces of chant; it seemed to perfectly echo the despair that had filled my life so far. But there was another reason as well—it spoke of a day of judgment, helpfully supplied by Pierre and Nadir, and a day of resurrection, given me by Angelique herself. Had I not her heard voice all that time ago, my grief would have consumed me. I owed her my life.

My fingers caressed the keys with loving familiarity, and I played the first few notes to let Angelique know which key to use. She nodded, inhaled…and her voice surpassed everything I had hoped. Every emotion I put into the notes—despair, longing, defiance—she mirrored perfectly.

My heart swelled as I saw her—back straight, posture perfect, singing from her diaphragm…I remembered our first lesson when we had argued about diaphragms and enunciation. How far she had come.

Once again I was struck with the full force of just how perfectly she seemed to understand what my music was saying…as if she knew what was in my mind.

In that instant, I fully realized that I loved her.

She came to the end of the song and looked around in confusion at the eyes that stared at her in awe. No one moved or seemed to breathe or even blink. It was as if they were under a spell. Brow furrowed, she turned to me and whispered, "Did I do something wrong?"

Oddly enough, I felt like crying for joy after her performance. "No, Angie, you did nothing wrong," I breathed. "You were perfect." I brought my hand up to her face. "We have won…in more ways than one."

"What do you mean?" Angelique questioned.

The words tumbled out of my mouth in a rather unromantic fashion, but having dispelled my confusion, I didn't see any reason to keep quiet. "I love you. Marry me."

Angelique was very quiet for several minutes before venturing, "Do you mean it?"

"With every part of myself. You…you've made me whole."

"I love you, too, Erik. Of course I'll marry you."

I slid my ring off my pinky finger and onto her ring finger as I had done to Christine so long ago…but things were different now. I had no reason to fear Angelique would reject me. No, she had accepted me…all of me.

A muffled sob broke the silence.

"Well," Angelique's mother sniffed, "it looks like we have another wedding to plan."

If anyone had ever told me that I, Erik Destler, would ever actually get married—and a marriage that was not some unattainable dream, at that—I would have said they were crazier than I was. And yet it happened.

I took it upon myself to plan all of the details since I didn't trust anyone else to get this occasion right. Angelique protested at not being allowed to help at all.

"It's my wedding, too, you know!" she insisted one evening down in the lair. She still liked to come visit after opera rehearsals although she no longer needed lessons—and despite my stern orders to stay away while I prepared everything for our marriage.

"And that is why I want everything to be perfect—because it is your marriage," I told her, gently kissing her.

She still looked disgusted. "But it's the biggest day of my life; I _want_ to help! Please?"

"No. Now get out; you're not seeing anything before the wedding. Go!" I turned her around and pushed her out the door. "And don't bother bribing Pierre for information; he's sworn to secrecy!"

Yes, I had recruited Pierre as well as Nadir to help me organize everything. There wasn't enough time to get everything done myself, so I persuaded them to organize the house—an actual house that was above ground. I still had to supervise them—quite frequently, to be perfectly honest—but it at least gave me a little more time to get Angelique's dress ready and write the nuptial mass.

The dress, off-white with black trimming, had been designed especially for her, to give her an outer beauty to mirror that which she contained within herself—and it accomplished exactly that.

"It's magnificent, Erik. Thank you," she whispered as we sat at our reception. _Our_ reception—it felt so good to say that. "And no feathers…I'm proud of you."

"You can't fool me; I know you have come to secretly love that old headdress."

Angelique merely smirked and countered, "Just as you have secretly come to love my brother—why else you would have let him play the nuptial mass you wrote?"

"He's the only one with the skill to play it properly," I argued, watching as Pierre joked with some of the guests. He had gotten over his hesitancy of my past and now welcomed me wholeheartedly as his brother. I was still getting used to his exuberant personality, but as he shared many similarities with his sister, I was willing to tolerate him. Besides, I had never had a brother, so I was curious to know what it was like.

Everything went exactly the way I planned it, but the best part of the day was a direct result of something that had been unplanned. When I first heard Angelique's voice, I had planned merely to exact my revenge through her. I had not planned to love her. But now she had sworn herself to me for the rest of her life…I was finally loved for myself.


	20. The End is Just the Beginning (Erik)

(A/N: Here it is-the final chapter! Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, and favorited; it brought me such joy to know that there are people out there who enjoy and appreciate my writing)

* * *

"Erik! _Erik_!"

I found myself being rather violently shaken awake. My muscles tensed instinctively at first before relaxing. It was only Angelique.

"Hm?" I grunted. I'm never very eloquent that early in the morning.

Although the room was almost completely dark, I could still make out where she lay, propped on one elbow, staring at me in concern. "You were having a nightmare—I thought you might want to wake up."

It had indeed been a nightmare, a memory from when I was four years old. My mother had been ill, and I had wanted to sit next to her to make her feel better. But every time I tried to go near her, she kept pushing me away, saying how horrible I was and how much she hated me.

Angelique didn't need to know any of that, though. "Yes, I was. Thank you for waking me. What time is it?"

She yawned. "Stupidly early in the morning, so go back to sleep."

"And you'll still be here?" I whispered to myself.

I hadn't meant for her to hear that, but she did. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

I groaned, knowing I would have to confess. "It's just…there are times when…you don't seem real, and I'm afraid I'll wake up and find you were nothing more than a dream."

"If I'm nothing more than a dream, you could have made me prettier," she grumbled, sticking her face in her pillow once more. "Go back to sleep, Erik. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

Sleep seemed to have left, however, so I contented myself with gently stroking Angelique's hair while she slept, marveling once more at how the skinny, sallow-faced hobgoblin had become the best thing that ever happened to me.

_Two Years Later…_

"Trust me, Erik; you do _not_ want to go up there right now." Pierre held me by the sleeve, but his eyes never left the pages of his book. I couldn't understand how he could be so calm.

"But—but—she _called_ me!" I protested helplessly, looking up the stairs.

"Didn't you hear the intense loathing with which she pronounced your name? Believe me; the only reason Angie wants you right now is so she can tear out your liver for putting her through this."

I finally freed myself and dashed up the stairs, nearly colliding with Robert, Angelique's doctor brother, as he was leaving our room.

"I was just about to call you," he remarked calmly—so calmly I wanted to strangle him.

"Well, how is she!?" I barked.

Robert grinned. "Angelique and your son are doing just fine."

"A boy!" I laughed. "I knew it! Didn't I tell you, Pierre?"

"You needn't gloat," Pierre sighed as he, too, came traipsing up the stairs. Pierre had insisted it would be a girl since for several generations in the Descartes family, all of the firstborn had been girls. I had suspected otherwise.

"When can I see them?" I pressed.

"Now, I suppose—although Angelique's tired, so I wouldn't make it too long."

Angelique may have been tired, but she certainly hid it well when I came in. "I take it Robert gave you the good news?"

"Yes, and Pierre is currently sulking for being proven wrong."

She chuckled and drew back the blankets on the small, squirming bundle she was holding. "Well, do you want to see him?"

I hesitated for a moment. Robert had said nothing, but I had to know—

"How is his face?"

Her grin widened. "He looks like neither one of us."

It was true—Gaston Erik Destler (Angelique and I had chosen his name earlier) was a perfectly ordinary-looking child, giving no visible indication of his hideous parentage. He would grow up to live a normal life. He would never know the horrors and deprivations I had lived through.

"Oh, Angie," I whispered, kissing her forehead. "Thank you."

* * *

"There is the great lesson of 'Beauty and the Beast'; that a thing must be loved _before_ it is loveable."-G. K. Chesterton, _Orthodoxy_


End file.
